


Sweet

by charnelhouse



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charnelhouse/pseuds/charnelhouse
Summary: your eyes are fine, geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Kudos: 69





	Sweet

And Geralt  _ knows  _ that his eyes are black - tar pits that pull and  _ yank  _ and are ugly enough that children run screaming from him. 

But -  _ you _

You’re staring up at him with your fingers hooked into his mouth - the sharp, musky taste of your cunt on his tongue, and he’s forcing you down on the ground - on rough cobblestone and dirt. His hands pull your knees apart - his own shiny fingers prying you open to reveal the raw, puffy slit that he’s nursed with his teeth. He nudges at your cheek - at your tangled hair -

_ i know my eyes are... _

And you laugh - sharp and strange in this empty hallway - your ankle wrapped around his thigh as you bring him closer.

_ i like your eyes that way _

That hits him hard - straight to the gut where his arousal is a hungry thing - the sex he craves nearly prenatural because he is simply not a  _ person _ \- more monster than man and his cock is uncomfortably hard in his trousers but your voice falls on him again...

_ your eyes are fine, geralt _

_ don’t be silly _

And you grasp him - stroke him until he bites into his own soft lip and then he’s  _ biting _ you - teeth clamped along your soft, fleshy shoulder - tongue slipping inside the hot cup of your mouth as you  _ whimper _ like something half-dying in his arms and  _ i won’t be able to stop... _

He certainly  _ won’t  _ and he’s already stretching you open with three fingers - spitting on your perfect cunt even though you are already soaked but he needs to make sure you’re ready for him - to make sure it’ll be  _ good _ for you and you’re breathing frantically through your nose - gasping and scrambling at his arms and his shoulders - palm shoved up against his chest where his heart pounds -

\- and  _ finally, _ he pushes himself inside you - buries himself to the hilt - and there are no words for the rest of it - nothing left but the tight, clamp of you on his cock and the pretty sounds that are spilling out of your mouth as he ruts into you on the cold, damp floor of this barren castle.

The smell of lichen. The smell of moss. The smell of death soft and perplexing as it rides the planes of his shoulders.

It’s not kind or even gentle - it’s none of that and he almost feels sorry that he is doing this to you - treating you to dust and drying blood from the dead thing he’s decapitated not inches from your skull. He’s taking you in brutal strokes - frantic and crudely loud because you’re so fucking wet - and he can’t even stop himself from crying out - from grunting like a dog in heat - from seeing stars - as if seeing the blinding explosion of igni from his own hand - and he touches you between your legs - touches you where you are _ just _ connected to him - rubs and twists where you are the most swollen and slick and it makes you gasp beneath him and  _ oh _ it’s good - it’s better than  _ good _ \- it’s fucking  _ sweet  _ and Geralt knows very, very little of either.


End file.
